Rules
I wake up disoriented, my eyes blinking open in unfamiliar surroundings. The room is dim, the light soft and faded. The first thing I feel is the warmth of a body pressed against mine. An arm is loosely wrapped around my waist—strong, steady, but relaxed. As soon as I move, it slips away.
My sleepy brain is slow to catch up. I turn around. Did I... did I sleep with this guy? Oh. It's Ivar. The realisation hits like a splash of cold water. Memories from last night begin to trickle back: the brandy, Haukon’s question, and how Ivar supported me—wordlessly.
“Good morning, drama queen,” Ivar teases with a wink.
I frown. “Me, a drama queen?” I croak, my voice still rough with sleep. I sniff and pull the blankets up around me with theatrical flair. “I was not a drama queen,” I mutter stubbornly.
Ivar laughs and yanks the covers away without mercy. The chill hits me straight away. “No? Should I call Haukon to jog your memory?” His tone is breezy, but something shifts in his eyes. “Seriously though, Haukon still wants to talk to you.”
I grumble something unintelligible, but the truth hits me: Haukon wants to talk to me. Suddenly, the room feels colder.
Haukon is waiting in his armchair when Ivar and I step into the living room. He’s sitting upright, looking stern. With a sigh, I let myself drop onto the sofa. Ivar stays standing, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
Haukon watches me so intently it makes me uneasy. “I’ll speak to Kasper later,” he begins. “But before I do, I want to know what you expect from that. What is it you want, Jelte?”
The question overwhelms me. What do I want? Revenge? For Kasper to be punished? Or just for none of this to have ever happened? My mouth is dry. “I just... I just want him to stop thinking he can do whatever he wants to me.”
Still watching me with that same serious expression, Haukon nods slowly. “And do you think he’ll understand if I talk to him about this?”
“I don’t know…”
Ivar shakes his head and leans forward a little, eyes sharp. “I do,” he says, a mix of irritation and knowing amusement in his voice. “Kasper is a predator. He takes what he wants and moves on without a backward glance. He thinks he’s in control, but really he’s just following his impulses.”
He pauses, and I see a small grin tug at his lips. “And if you want to teach Kasper anything, don’t confront him. Put him in his place.”
Haukon raises an eyebrow. “And how do you suggest Jelte does that?”
Ivar looks at me like the answer should be obvious. Then he shrugs and says, “Easy. Stop chasing him. Kasper thinks he’s the hunter, but he doesn’t realise he’s already losing. Let Jelte ignore him. Let him feel that he’s lost his grip.”
Something inside me hesitates, gnaws at me…
Ivar’s grin widens, becoming more daring. He looks me straight in the eye. “And if he comes crawling back? Make him beg.”
I give a weak smile at the idea. But it feels… off. I can’t imagine Kasper crawling back.
Haukon’s gaze stays on me—searching, but not judging. “Did you agree to the sex?” he asks calmly. His tone is neither harsh nor soft.
I nod. “Yes.”
“And yet you’re angry.”
“He... he used me and tossed me aside,” I mutter. But even as I say it, it rings hollow.
“Is that really what happened?” Haukon’s voice is steady, unflinching. “Or was it something else?”
I bite my lip, anger and confusion swirling inside me. “I felt... empty. Like I was nothing the moment he was done.”
Haukon nods slowly. “And of course, once you were done too. That’s the post-nut clarity after the high, kid. But I think there’s more. What exactly did you feel?”
I clench my jaw. My breathing quickens. “I felt... submissive.” The word tastes bitter. “I hate that feeling.”
“Because you think it makes you weak.” Haukon’s voice is deep, warm, and unyielding.
“It is weak,” I snap. “I don’t want anyone to just do whatever they want to me.”
Haukon leans in slightly, his eyes sharp. “Kasper didn’t. You agreed. You chose to go down on him, to let him take control.”
He lets the silence hang for a moment. “And you chose to torment yourself afterwards over what that said about you.”
My heart pounds in my throat. I want to deny it, tell him he’s wrong—but I know he isn’t.
“You don’t hate what Kasper did,” Haukon says at last. “You hate what it says about you.”
He sighs and pushes himself up from the chair with both hands. “All right. I’ll speak to Kasper.” He turns and walks toward the door.
“Haukon...” My voice comes out weaker than I want it to.
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”
Say it. Ask him to make Kasper pay. To make him feel what I felt. But the words won’t come. My throat is dry as sand. “Nothing,” I mumble. “Never mind.”
Haukon nods once, then walks out without another word.
------
Ivar and I are left behind. I'm still rooted to the bench. What on earth is Haukon going to say to Kasper? I think back to what he told me: You don’t hate what Kasper did. You hate what it says about you.
But Ivar is already in the kitchen. I hear eggs sizzling in the fat, and the gentle scrape of a spatula in the pan. My stomach growls when the smell of bacon hits me. Ivar walks over with breakfast—as if he hadn’t just watched Haukon tear me apart.
I sit down on the sofa. I don’t want to think, but I can’t stop. Am I blowing this out of proportion?
“Breakfast. Eat something,” he says softly. He places a plate on the side table in front of me and plops down beside me on the couch. He doesn’t say another word.
Just eating. I nod, grateful, and pick up my cutlery. The silence is… welcome. We eat. Quietly.
Only after a few minutes does Ivar speak. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own, you know.”
I nearly choke on a piece of bread.
“What Haukon said,” he goes on. “That wasn’t to tear you down.”
I swallow and force myself to sound casual. “Sure felt like it.”
Ivar chuckles quietly. “That’s called honesty, kid.”
I glance up at him. “Oh yeah?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Haukon doesn’t lie. And you—” he points his fork at me “—you hate that.”
I ignore him and keep eating. Ivar does too, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just see me fold in on myself. The silence between us is almost bearable. I stab at my bread with my fork. Don’t think. Don’t think.
Ivar leans back and sips his coffee. His gaze lingers a beat too long. “You think you’re hiding it,” he says eventually. “But I see it.”
I try to keep my expression neutral. I force myself to take a bite, even though I taste nothing.
Ivar smiles. “Mm. You don’t respond, but you’ve stiffened up completely. Interesting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble.
“No?” He taps the edge of my plate with his fork. The metal clinks softly. “That knot in your shoulders. That shallow breathing. That lost look in your eyes.”
I want to ignore him, but then he leans in a little, his voice dropping to a low murmur that makes the hairs on my neck rise.
“Tell me, Jelte,” he says almost offhandedly, “how long are you going to pretend you don’t know what a cock tastes like?”
My fork clatters onto the plate. “Ivar!”
He looks up, perfectly calm. “What?”
The bacon fat curdles in my stomach. “Shut. Up.”
Ivar grins, picks up a slice of bread, and takes a slow bite. “Just wondering if you did a halfway decent job.”
I throw a napkin at his face. He catches it without blinking.
“Relax, kid.” He stretches and leans back. “Everyone’s got a talent for something.”
I look away from him.
“Jelte,” he continues, his voice lower, more serious now. “We’re all Sons of Balder. You are. So am I. Our fathers didn’t send us here because they thought we wanted to chase girls…”
I swallow. Ivar pauses a beat.
“…They sent us here because we like cock,” he finishes, deliberately provocative.
I glance past him, toward nothing in particular.
“Cock tastes good,” he says, like he’s stating a universal truth.
I want to walk away, but I can’t. So I just turn my head farther from him.
“Jelte. Look at me.”
I glance back at him, reluctantly.
He takes a sip of coffee. “That’s not dirty. That’s not wrong. And it’s sure as hell not weak.” His eyes hold mine. “So why are you acting like it’s something shameful?”
I shake my head. “I…”
Ivar shakes his. “No. Don’t deflect. Feel it, Jelte.”
I press my lips together.
He leans in slightly. His gaze has changed—no longer teasing, not cruel—just steady. His voice is low, almost hypnotic. “A warm, hard shaft in your mouth,” he says slowly. “The weight of it on your tongue. The taste... salty, musk, maybe a hint of sweetness.”
My throat tightens. I want to say something, but I can’t.
“The way his thighs tensed when you sealed your lips tighter around his cock.”
It hits me. I feel it again. My breath stutters. Ivar sees it. He knows. He takes another sip of coffee, casually. “See? You’re feeling it again.”
I curse under my breath.
“Why are you fighting this, Jelte?” he asks, calm as ever.
I shoot him a glare.
“You wanted it. You did it. You enjoyed it.” He pauses—lets it hang. “And you know what? That’s exactly how it should be.”
My legs feel heavy. My hands itch to do something. Say something. Anything.
“You’re not broken,” Ivar says simply. “You’re not weak. You just need to stop lying to yourself.” He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Wodan, boy. You’ve made this so hard for yourself.”
I want to snap back, say something sharp. But my tongue feels thick. My chest won’t unclench.
Ivar gets to his feet and stretches. “You coming? We’ve got to get ready for the meeting.”
I nod without thinking and follow him. My legs are stiff, like I’ve been frozen there longer than I realised. The room feels warmer now. I breathe deep, trying to shake off the weight still pressing on my chest.
The hallway is quiet as we step outside. For a moment, everything feels normal. Like none of that just happened. Like I didn’t just—
I shake the thought away.
Up ahead, I hear voices.
“Did you see Kasper’s face just now?” asks a tall, wiry boy to the broad-shouldered guy next to him. “Yeah,” the other replies with a smirk. “Looked like he’d just taken a beating from Wodan himself.”
Ivar slows and glances their way. A satisfied smile curls on his lips. “That’s Haukon,” he murmurs, almost reverent. But mostly... smug.
My stomach tightens. “You don’t think Haukon actually spanked Kasper, do you?” I ask, caught off guard by the image.
“Oh, he did,” Ivar says, without a doubt in his voice, “A verbal spanking. With a bare minimum of words.”
------
Entering the Great Hall, all the new submissive boys are seated on low wooden benches. They sit in silence, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes cast downward—as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Along the walls, the Dominant boys are spread out, casually leaning against the stone like disinterested sentinels. They speak little, but their eyes track every movement in the hall with languid, calculating focus. As if they’re waiting for something. As if they’ve long since learned the rules of the game, while the others are only beginning to recognise the board.
Haukon is already there, his posture effortlessly commanding, as always. Ivar walks over and takes his place beside him. They don’t exchange words; they don’t need to.
I search for an empty spot among the tightly packed submissive boys. Two boys slide apart just enough for me to slip in between them. I give them a grateful nod and sit down.
I scan the rows of Dominant boys. My stomach jolts when I spot Kasper—his expression sour. What had Haukon said to him? I meet his gaze. Kasper immediately looks away. A flicker of anger stirs in me. But also something else. Desire?
The Friiö’s voice rings out through the hall. “Sons of Balder!”
I, along with everyone else, turn to the stage.
“For the new submissives among you, this is a significant moment. In a moment, your names will be called, and your mentor announced. But before we begin, I want to impress upon you the importance of humility and submission to Lord Balder’s will.”
He launches into a long, solemn sermon, rich in lofty phrases. “Humility is the key to true strength, and obedience the path to fulfilment. Lord Balder’s will is not a chain to bind you, but a guide to lead you to your true self. Let go of pride and doubt, and open your heart to the role appointed to you.”
It goes on. And on. And on. “Whoever bows will be lifted up; whoever resists will break himself!”
Some boys listen devoutly, but others are clearly struggling to stay focused—not just among the submissives. Scanning the Dominant boys, I notice many bored faces, like they’ve heard this too many times before. I can’t stop myself from yawning
I glance over and see Ivar slowly slumping further down in his seat. “Beware the pride that disrupts the path of Balder, for no proud soul shall find mercy in His eyes!” Ivar yawns—openly, almost theatrically. I smile when Haukon promptly jabs him in the ribs. Ivar blinks up at him, slightly startled. “The will of the gods is not to understand, but to obey!”
Another Dominant boy has seen it too. With a smirk, he glances at Ivar and Haukon, then turns to me and gives me a look of knowing amusement. It’s that friendly blond boy I bumped into at lunch yesterday. I feel my cheeks flush with warmth. He winks at me.
Trying to break away from his gaze as subtly as I can, And then, finally, the Friiö’s liberating words: “Let it be so.”
------
After his sermon, the Friiö explains the ceremony in surprisingly few words. While the Home, I’ve noticed, often excels at needlessly drawn-out rituals, this allotment ceremony proceeds relatively smoothly. And yet, there’s a tension in the air—the weight of the moment when escape is no longer an option.
The Friiö speaks solemnly as he consults the laptop on his lectern. “I now call the first group of submissive boys to come forward. Tjalling de Vries, Douwe Jorritsma, Hylke van der Meer, and Redmer Bosgraaf.”
I hear benches shifting, the sound of movement echoing from different corners of the hall. Four boys rise and make their way toward the stage. One almost stumbles over his own feet but catches himself just in time. The first to kneel lets out a faint sigh. Another lowers himself slowly, as if delaying the inevitable.
When all four have knelt, the Friiö waits a moment in silence, letting the weight of the scene settle. “For this group, Ulf Bengson will serve as mentor.”
From the ranks of the Dominant boys, Ulf Bengson steps forward. His pace is calm, deliberate. He stops before the kneeling boys, eyes sharp, measuring them without a word.
The Friiö gives a short nod. “Mentor, speak your promise.”
Ulf places a hand over his chest. His voice is low, steady. “In the name of Balder, I will lead these boys to their true nature.”
A beat later, the boys answer in unison: “In the name of Balder, we accept your guidance.”
The Friiö nods again, expression unreadable. “Stand and follow your mentor.”
They rise—but not all at once. One boy jerks upward too fast, another hesitates as if obedience hasn’t yet reached his limbs. Ulf turns wordlessly and walks toward the side door. It takes half a second before the boys fall in line.
The Friiö swipes his finger across the screen. The glow from the display reflects faintly in the lenses of his glasses. “The next group…”
Oh Lord Balder, please let Ivar be my mentor, I pray silently as names are called out one by one.
Once again, the shuffle of benches, the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of knees hitting wood. Group after group is called, and sent off. Fewer names. Fewer chances.
A group of just three boys kneels. “For this group, Kasper Veldhuis will serve as mentor,” the Friiö’s voice announces.
A sharp sting of jealousy hits me, seeing those boys kneeling before Kasper. No. It’s better this way.
Kasper’s eyes flick briefly toward mine. Barely a second. Then he looks away. As if I never existed.
I force myself to stay still. I can feel eyes on me. The Dominant boys see everything. There’s nowhere to hide.
“Jelte Visser.”
The moment has come. The Friiö says nothing more. Just me? No other boys? I rise and step onto the stage, kneeling. Balder, let it be Ivar.
“For you, Haukon Schonewille will serve as your mentor.”
No. Not that cold, forbidding Haukon. Have mercy, Lord Balder.
“Mentor, speak your promise,” the Friiö says, his voice flat.
“In the name of Balder, I will guide this boy to his true nature,” Haukon says. His voice is... surprisingly warm.
“In the name of Balder, I accept your guidance,” I hear myself reply.
“Stand and follow your mentor.”
I rise, expecting Haukon to turn and lead me out. But instead, he steps toward me and embraces me.
“Welcome, Jelte,” he whispers in my ear.
I hadn’t expected a welcome like that.
As we walk down the corridor, I dare to say it. “I’d actually hoped Ivar would be my mentor.”
Haukon’s response is nothing like I expect. “Oh, then you’re in luck. Ivar is included.” He gives me a smug smile. I can’t quite read him. With Haukon, you never know whether you’ll get what you want… or what you need.
------
Haukon leads me back to his flat, where Ivar has already made tea for us. The atmosphere is relaxed, and I feel myself beginning to unwind.
Haukon takes a sip of tea and clears his throat. “Now that I’m your mentor, your life is going to change, Jelte. In this Home, rules and structure are everything.
Of course, I can’t get five minutes of peace, can I?
“There are rules you’ll be expected to follow…”
Naturally. I let out a sigh and lower my gaze. I can feel Haukon’s eyes on the back of my neck.
“Look at me, boy.” His voice is calm, but carries an edge that leaves no room for argument. I force myself to look up.
Haukon straightens. “You don’t speak to Dominant boys unless they speak to you first. When you do, you address them as ‘Sir.’ And whenever you answer, you use two words.”
“Yes, Sir,” I say, dragging the words out.
Haukon smiles briefly, then softens his tone of voice. “You can always talk to Ivar and me. Just call us Haukon and Ivar. We’re here to guide you, not make things harder. Don’t hesitate to ask us anything.
“Yes, Haukon,” I say, a little more cheerfully.
Ivar chuckles aloud.
Haukon throws him a quick glance but doesn’t comment. His attention stays fixed on me.“You’ll be eating in the main dining hall from now on,” he continues, his tone back to calm authority. “Under the supervision of the young Dominant boys. You’ll report to Ivar and me after dinner. No later than seven-thirty.”
I bite my lip. Great. Even more supervision.
“At ten o’clock, you’ll be in your room. There, you’ll write in your journal. Everything you felt or desired that day.”
Ivar grins broadly and sips his tea, visibly entertained by my growing frustration. Haukon shoots him another brief glance.
“Once a week, we’ll go over your journal,” he continues, unfazed. “And I expect you to be honest, Jelte. This isn’t busywork. It’s a way to understand yourself—your feelings, your experiences. I’ll see right through it if you’re just going through the motions.”
I swallow.
Ivar shakes his head with mock sympathy. “There’s no escape, kid.”
I shoot him a wary look. The ease with which he’s speaking annoys me. Of course it’s easy for him—he’s the one giving the rules, not following them. He likes rules. I open my mouth to reply, “Yes, Sir… er... Ivar.”
For a split second, a twinkle flashes in his eyes. But he says nothing.
“At ten-thirty, you’ll be in bed,” Haukon continues. “And at six, you’ll get up when the morning bell rings.”
I want to say something about how I’m perfectly capable of deciding when I sleep, thank you very much—but Haukon’s gaze leaves no room for that. He holds my eyes. Calm. Expectant
“Yes, Haukon,” I say at last.
The corner of his mouth lifts—just slightly—into something like approval. Then it’s gone.“Corvée duty isn’t assigned by Ivar or me. The young Dominant boys will assign it to you. When they give you a task, you do it. No arguing. No delay.”
I glance away, but I know better than to drop my eyes to the floor. He wouldn’t tolerate that.
“And one more thing.” Haukon sets his mug on the table with a quiet tap and folds his hands. “A submissive boy doesn’t leave the grounds unless he’s accompanied by a Dominant.”
My heart skips. I feel my back go rigid.
“What?” My voice comes out sharper than intended.
“You don’t have free access to the outside world here,” Haukon explains calmly, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. “This isn’t a punishment, Jelte. It’s meant to protect you—and to help you find your place.”
“So I’m just… not allowed to leave?” The words slip out before I can stop them. My throat is suddenly dry.
Haukon’s gaze tightens, just slightly. But his tone stays level. “You’re allowed to leave. Just not alone.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I blurt.
Haukon’s fingers tap the back of his chair. Once. Twice. His eyes stay on me—calm, immovable. He doesn’t even raise his voice. “That’s the rule.”
My stomach knots. I inhale through my nose, trying to push the anger down. Fighting it won’t help—not now.
“Say it, Jelte,” Haukon says.
I don’t want to. I don’t want to accept this. But I’m not going to win this fight—not here, not now. “Yes, Haukon,” I say, reluctantly.
A flicker of satisfaction crosses his face. He knows. He knows I hate this. But for now—I’m yielding. “Good.” He picks up his mug again, as casually as if the conversation never happened. “Those are your rules, boy. It’s up to you how hard or easy you make this for yourself.”
I feel Ivar’s eyes on me. When I look up, he’s smirking. “It goes faster than you thought, doesn’t it?”
I shoot him a glare. He just grins. He knew. Of course he knew. He knows these rules like the back of his hand. But… did he ever have to follow them himself?
I turn to Haukon. “Am I supposed to do something with that leather strap on my bedside table? And the prayer?”
Ivar chuckles again. “Oh, that? Nah. That’s just something a slightly-too-horny priest came up with. No one takes it seriously. Unless you’re into that kind of thing, of course.”
Even Haukon can’t suppress a laugh.
------
When I am alone in my room again in the evening, I see a notebook and a pen waiting for me on the small desk. With a sigh, I open the notebook and take the pen in hand:
--------
Diary entry - Jelte
22:11, room 2.12
I don't know what to make of Ivar. He makes me laugh. He also makes me angry. And... he makes me hard.
That is perhaps the most confusing thing of all. How can I be so comfortable with someone who challenges me so much? Who makes me feel things I don't want to feel? Or, maybe, just the opposite.
He talks about sex like it's nothing. Throws it out with that grin of his, like he knows exactly what it does to me. And maybe he does know. That's the worst part.
His leather pants were so tight today that I couldn't take my eyes off them. It felt wrong to look at him like that. But it was the way that he was wearing those pants. So sure and so horny. Like they were made to frame his ass. As if he was made to make a boy like me look, blush, get turned on.
I know he is Dominant. Or at least, I think so. He doesn't have to say anything. It's in his posture. In the way he moves, how he sits. How he looks at me when I am silent.
And yet I feel safe with him. Because he sees me, without forcing me. Because he knows what's going on, and just lets it be. Because he teases me, but never lets me down.
--------
I put down my pen. It feels like I've just written down something I wouldn't dare say out loud. Ivar makes me hard. I would never dare to type that on the Friiö's screen like that, but it's in my notebook now. In my handwriting. My truth.
I slam the book shut. The sound is louder than I intended, but it helps me get back into my body. I breathe in deeply. The smell of the leather next to my bed is warm and vaguely exciting. That stupid spanking strap. That weird priestly fantasy. Ivar would laugh at it.
I pull the covers aside. My body feels heavy, unwieldy from the day. And at the same time, I burn inside. I try not to think about Kasper. Not about what it was like to get on my knees in front of him, his hands in my hair. But my brain is too quick for me. The image flashes by, raw, horny, painful.
I bite my lower lip. No. I close my eyes and try to see Ivar in front of me. His dominant grin. The way he sipped his coffee, as if he had already figured me out completely. His voice, low and teasing: ‘“A warm, hard dick in your mouth... The way his thighs tightened as you closed your lips tighter around his cock.”
In my mind I kneel again, but this time in front of Ivar. Ivar in those tight leather pants. Nonchalantly against the kitchen counter, coffee in his hand. His thick cock bulging shamelessly against the leather.
My breath falters. My hand slides down, almost automatically. The touch is gentle, exploratory.
Ivar knows no shame, he is in no hurry. He quietly sips his coffee while I kneel in front of him.
When his coffee is finally finished, he sets his mug on the countertop with a considered motion, sighs deeply once and then pulls down the zip of his fly and pulls out his hard cock from his pants, right in front of my face. ‘"Open wide. Show me you want it, little slut.’
I moan softly. My fingers become firmer. My pelvis moves a little. My breathing quickens.
He would command me without raising his voice. He would fuck me in my mouth like Kasper did, but not to use me, but to make me feel I was his.
My hips thrust upwards. Everything tingles. Everything else fades. All I see is... Ivar above me, dominant without forcing, hot without being cruel. Free. Wild. Warm.
I come with a jolt, my belly wet, my muscles tense. For a moment I am completely still. Then I sink back into the pillow.
My heart is pounding. My breathing is irregular. I feel... soft. Open.
Sleepy.
